


Our (boring MI6) meeting

by CMDAK



Series: His, mine and maybe ours [4]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, onesided!James Bond/Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 18:18:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3738613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMDAK/pseuds/CMDAK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people should have their mouths sewed before they bore the entire population to death, in Bond's opinion. But at least there was coffee and tea after that, which was nice.</p><p>Based off a tumblr prompt</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our (boring MI6) meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Original prompt was "You sit behind me and poke me every time i fall asleep during 9am lectures thank you can i buy you a coffee? au", but as usual, it came out heavily modified and the AU aspect of it was lost.
> 
> Please excuse any and all mistakes.

If he ever found out who came up with the bright idea to have a budgetary meeting where the entire MI6 was obligated to attend, he was going to personally put a bullet through their brain, ally or no ally. Actually, the more he thought about it, the more sure he was that this whole thing had been set up by a double agent – not of the ‘oh’ variety – to bore everyone to death and rob England of its best defenders. 

 

The one who droned on and on about being over budget in that or this department had been cursed with the text book example of a monotone voice. He wondered how his friends could listen to him without falling. Did he even have friends? Was he married? He could clearly see a wedding ring so he must be married. How did he manage to find someone who heard him talk and said 'yes, this tedious sounding man right here is the one I want to spend the rest of my life with'?

 

“And now if we turn our attention to the actual budget used by your technical branch, we can clearly see that it is vaster than that which had been green lit. I hate to label things, but this what we liked to refer to as  _a black hole department._ We have to come up with a way to stop this black hole.” He sounded boring even when he insulted departments.

 

Would anyone actually revoke his license to kill if he ‘accidentally’ shot this man? Looking around the room, he was slowly beginning to think that everyone would thank him. M looked like he was thinking of jumping out the window by how hard he was glaring at it, Eve was bouncing her right leg so hard that Bond was sure she was secretly planning to dig her way out of the meeting room, the other double oh agents looked like they were about to either jump the man and tear him limb from limb of activate their cyanide capsules and R’s hand was squeezing Q’s shoulder so hard to keep him from assaulting the man that Bond was sure he’d see a bruise there.

 

Actually, the only man who seemed to be happy about this whole torture session was Bill Tanner. The man was nodding his head to pretty much everything the living torture device said, writing in his notepad God knows what. " _I should have known he was behind this_ ," James thought, fingers itching to wrap themselves around the man's throat. Maybe he'll miss him when playing poker, but it was clearly that the man was a sour loser and this was just punishment for last week's game in which he had lost everything, watch included. 

 

Well, damn the meeting and every little boring fact. He didn’t care, no one except for Tanner did. Q certainly won’t allow for his funds to be cut, no department head would. And anyway, the message said that they all had to attend. It didn’t say anything about not sleeping while being present.

 

Pushing his chair back a bit to have more room for his feet and crossing his hands over his chest, Bond was dead set on nodding off in five minutes or less. He didn’t see the other agents who decided to follow his example, nor Tanner’s suddenly red face at his actions or Q’s frowning one when R pointed out what Bond was doing. However, he did feel his phone vibrating in his pocket.

 

_You’re setting a bad example for the other agents, 007._

 

He could hear Q’s scolding voice in his head without trying and when he looked up, Q’s head was turned and his eyes were fixed on him. _I’m not telling them what they should do, Q. They are grown men and women, they can decide on their own._

The other man didn’t even look away from him as his elegant fingers fired off a reply, frown deepening. _You are the eldest among them. Of course they’re going to follow your example. So sit up straight and pretend to care!_

 

_Are you jealous that you are too close to boredom itself and you can’t do what I'm planning on doing?_

Q turned for a moment to listen to what R was whispering in his ear, shrugging and focusing his attention back on the smug agent. _I am not jealous, 007. But if I have to suffer through this, than so does the man who’s at fault for my department going over budget and being labeled a black hole._

 

 _Well then, you better find a way to keep me from closing my eyes because right now, being dead sounds better than whatever he’s going on about_. He winked at Q, Eve’s sudden cough suspiciously sounding more like an attempt to cover her giggles.

 

Q’s lips twitched and formed a very small smile – or that was what the agent hoped they did; they were a bit too far away from each other to be sure – and Bond expected to see the man’s fingers move again. However, much to Bond’s disappointment, Q turned his head away and appeared to focus on the meeting again. Falling asleep it was then. And not that he was suddenly on a childish streak, but he was hoping he'd snore loud enough for everyone to hear just what he thought about this whole meeting.

 

_I thought one became immune to long and boring things after being converted into a fan of that dreadful football sport._

Not bothering to hide his grin or the fact that he was texting, a sharp intake of breathing suggesting shock coming from over where Tanner was sitting, Bond set about explaining to Q why it was a complete blasphemy to compere a budgetary meeting with a football match.

 

***

 

Somewhere between texts about football and TV shows, James decided to throw some caution – never all of it because if he ever did that, he’d outright ask Q to move in with him and allow him to provide him with everything he needs, sexual and otherwise – into the wind and ask Q to join him for coffee or tea after the torture session ended. And when the young man agreed, he almost turned to the agent on his left to request a high five. Only thing that truly stopped him for doing that was another message from Q in which he said that he knew a nice little place that he compared to his own private heaven.

 

And Q hadn't been exactly exaggerating. While the front looked dull and easy to miss unless you knew what you were looking for, the moment they stepped through the doors it was as if they had entered a pocket dimension. The atmosphere was intimate, but not outright romantic, the inside of the shop looking like a private and elaborate garden than an actual bistro. The ceiling was painted a light blue and every table was separated by maze-like hedges.

 

The location is safe and most of the people who come in here are either university students or other MI6 employees. The owner of the shop was close friends with the old M.” Q explained and sat down at the best hidden table. “This is where I come when I need peace to figure out a code or simply when I want to sit back and observe people." He blushed for a moment, but quickly shook his head and picked up a menu, urging Bond to do the same.

 

"Do you like to do that often? Watching other people I mean?" Q blushed again, but did not answer. The agent wondered if, perhaps, the old hag had shared lunch breaks with the young genius. Or maybe this was how M had stumbled upon this treasure of a man, silently hacking this or that in this very same booth.

 

“It’s very nice,” James muttered, silently deciding to call this little outing a date in his mind. “You look like you were made to for this place. Or rather, this place was made to compliment every aspect of you.” He clumsily added, his brain coming to a sudden halt when Q's blush only intensified. It was very good to know that clumsy lines worked better than his well-rehearsed and confident ones. Maybe that was because Q had never heard Bond say those things to his targets over his coms.

 

“Are you saying I was made to be a tea boy?” Q asked after a few moments in which he struggled to regain

 

“You could be my tea boy and I hate tea more than the Hot Mexican hooker. Which, by the way, you should always turn down.”

 

Q looked crestfallen at him, green eyes wide. “I, I beg your pardon, agent?” Never a good sight to be called that in the middle of the one-sided date. “I have never used the services of… Female or otherwise… Not that I judge people who... But to think that you, out of all people would... Maybe your age is to blame for you starting to use the....” He started to stutter, trying to worm in a jibe related to Bond’s age to make himself seem that he wasn't bothered by the subject.

 

In the amount of time he had shared a building with Q, he had never seen the man bring over a woman – or man – to his apartment and he hadn’t heard any noise that would imply he was busy entertaining a guest in the pleasant way. And when he’d spent time in the other man’s apartment, he saw nothing to indicate the existence of a hidden significant other.

 

“It’s a drink, it’s a drink,” James finally said, deciding to end the other man’s struggle and embarrassment, taking pity on him. He had also taken pity on his own brain, sure that he was moments away from giving in and attacking Q's lips with his own. “It’s a shot of tequila mixed with Tabasco sauce and the juice left by the fish in tuna cans.”

 

The red from Q’s face disappeared instantly and for a moment, James was afraid that the young man would actually vomit. “That sounds beyond disgusting. Think I’ll skip the fish and chips this time.”

 

“But going back to the literal interpretation of a hooker, my Quy... I do hope you’ll come to me should you ever find yourself in need of that sort of pleasant human interaction. Or if you need to get rid of stress," winking and picking up his cup of coffee that he had no memory of actually ordering, James waited to see how the other man would react to such an offer.

 

The younger man tried to act casual, crossing his hands over his chest and leaning back against the chair. However, there was nothing he could do about his red face. “I highly doubt the women that fall for you would be interested in a boffin, James. Also, still not the right name.” Nodding to the waiter, he took a sip of his tea before continuing to explain why the agent’s offer wasn’t good – never mind that he completely ignored the other possibility of the offer. “There is also the matter that I’m— Hello?”

 

Curse all technology and may whoever invented cellphones roast for an unspecified amount of time in the deepest pit of hell! What had he done so bad that he was being punished with only little bits of information that could be interpreted in so many ways? He was what? Gay? Bisexual? Asexual? Pansexual? The physical personification of Puck? Interested sexually in codes and technology? 

 

“I’m sorry to cut this short, Bond,” Q muttered, drinking his tea in one big gulp, struggling to get his black jacket on. “Minus the whole offering me hookers, it’s been nice. Better than the meeting anyway.” And then he disappeared out the door, before Bond could point out the fact that they had only sat together for fifteen minutes.

 

"Having my balls crushed was better than the meeting," the agent whispered to himself, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead. If there was one thing a spy hated almost as much as a traitor, then that thing was incomplete information. Bond was actually thinking of that as worse than blue balls at this point.

 

“Um, excuse me sir,” a mousy voice squeaked from Bond's left, the waiter actually flinching, quickly taking a step back when the agent's cold stare settled on him. "I couldn't help but hear..." 

 

“I’m not a pimp and no, I will not provide you or your spot ridden underage friends with women.” Bond deadpanned, dropping fifty pounds on the table and leaving before the waiter could say something more to annoy him. And pox on all the phones that went off at pivotal moments in time

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> QUY: Vietnamese unisex name meaning "precious."


End file.
